


You were all I ever longed for

by jarofhearts, tetila (AwakeMySoul)



Series: Day Off Universe [1]
Category: Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8067874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofhearts/pseuds/jarofhearts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwakeMySoul/pseuds/tetila
Summary: When Paul's father and brother are gone for a whole weekend, John and Paul have the place to themselves. And for once they can do and be everything they want.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just us giving the boys a day off whenever we feel like they need it. It might turn into a series whenever inspiration strikes us or the need for fluff overtakes us.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this sweet, little story, we sure did!

* * *

credit for top left picture @ [seutedeern](http://archiveofourown.org/users/seutedeern/profile)  


* * *

He wakes up gradually, the slide as gentle as can be, like a dream slipping so slowly into the real world that you barely even notice it.

For a long while Paul thinks he is dreaming, that he’s dreaming of sunshine on his face and a melody floating around, a pretty one, unhurried and optimistic. He thought they were both singing, maybe, but it’s actually only John, and Paul is happy with that.

He could always listen to John sing for hours.

The bed is warm, so comfortably warm, like the softest of nests, and Paul finally realizes that it’s actually morning, and there is actually sun shining in his face, and he actually is hearing John sing quietly somewhere in the room.

A smile steals onto his lips, inevitable, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes.

This -

This is perfect.

Slowly he wiggles his toes, carefully stretching his legs under the warmth of the blanket, relishing in the feeling of sleep leaving his muscles. 

A content sigh escapes his throat and Paul turns slightly to press his face deeper into the softness of his pillow until he thinks he finds the lingering scent of both John and him in the fabric. 

Yes, this is how it’s supposed to be, Paul thinks again and finally opens his eyes, squinting slightly against the light.

He finds John sitting against the far wall, already dressed in jeans and a white shirt. Barefooted. The sun shines through the window, highlighting the auburn of John’s hair in a warm, golden hue. His posture is relaxed with one arm braced on his knee, looking at the back of a record, eyelashes painting soft shadows on his cheeks.

An inevitable smile spreads on Paul’s lips, warmth unfurling instantly in his chest, and his heart skips a ridiculous beat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move either, too captivated by the sight. He wants to commit it to memory, capture it and tuck it away in the very depths of his mind so that he’s never going to lose it.

That morning sun in John’s hair, the rare calm and peace he seems to be in. His quietly humming voice.

Paul doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to break the moment, so he just watches. But John must feel his gaze because after a few comfortable moments he raises his head and their eyes meet. 

The smile that flickers over John's lips is wide and soft and gentle and so full of affection it immediately feels like a caress.

Because Paul knows it's meant for him and him alone.

"Morning," John greets him, voice quiet as if he doesn't want to break the serenity of the moment. 

Paul lets out a soft sound in return, still unwilling to raise his head from where it's half buried in the pillow. But he smiles back, open and unguarded.

"Why're you dressed?"

John shrugs, smile firmly kept in place.

"Felt wrong running 'round butt naked downstairs, despite it all."

Paul snickers quietly to himself, letting himself be amused by the mental image.

His dad and Mike are out for the whole weekend, Friday night till Sunday afternoon, and they’re on their own. Entirely, completely. With nothing to be careful about, nothing to hide, just - being themselves. Doing whatever they want to do.

“Why were you even awake so early?”

"Thirsty," John answers like it's the most obvious reason, his gentle smile turning into a teasing grin. "Wore me right out last night, you did."

The words send a sudden, very pleasant shudder through him, and Paul laughs soundlessly and buries his face in the pillow.

They’ve been alone last night, entirely undisturbed - will be this one too he remembers - and oh, they’ve taken advantage of it. A lot of advantage.

There’s a light flush on the back of his neck, Paul knows, but it’s one that comes from a place of pride too.

He hears more than sees John move and Paul senses the bed dip slightly under the added weight.

"Oh, now he blushes," he hears John say in a whispered murmur. A warm hand finds the nape of his neck, a gentle and soft touch of fingers trailing over his heated skin, before soft lips follow, nuzzling the sensitive place behind his ear.

“Shut up,” Paul says into the pillow, the light touch sending a shiver down his spine. He can’t help the way his back arches inevitably, subtly, his hand knocking lightly against John’s knee. It’s accidental, but he immediately spreads his fingers and covers it with his hand.

“Mhhm.” The answer vibrates against Paul’s shoulder before John removes his lips with a last playful nibble to his skin. “You ever goin’ to move your pretty face from that pillow or are you tryin’ to suffocate yourself?” he asks, his fingers finding Paul’s, tracing the callused sides of the tips. “Which would be a pity since we got the whole bloody place for ourselves.”

That does finally make Paul move. He can barely ever resist anything even close to a challenge from John, just like it is the other way around. And so he turns onto his back, shifting until he’s comfortable. His hand never let go of John’s, and he doesn’t care how sentimental that is, just keeps their fingers entwined and rests them against his stomach.

“Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” John replies, trying to sound serious, but failing when a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. He moves into the space Paul just vacated, spreading his body alongside Paul’s on the bed. Their eyes meet over the pillow and a comfortable silence settles between them.

It should feel weird, staring at each other like this, Paul knows that. It should - but it doesn’t, somehow. He could do this all day, that’s the crux of it, and, yeah, he’s been having his freak out moments about this, but in the end…

It’s just them. No one else has to know, and it’s no one else’s business either. This is between the two of them, just like when they make music together, just the two of them. It’s perfect, and it’s theirs.

Looking into John's eyes, Paul thinks he can find his thoughts like a mirror image reflected back at him. They don't really talk about this often, but in moments like these Paul can read it all on John's face. It's all out there in the open for him, and John doesn't have to say the words, because Paul knows. 

"Are you getting soft on me, McCartney?" 

John's hands squeeze softly around his own, reassuring and warm as if to remind him he means nothing by it. That it's just him being him, and Paul is used to this and loves this.

He gives him a smirk in return.

“That’d require me having been hard in the first place.”

His words make John chuckle, a slight shake of his head. He shuffles closer until their faces are bare inches apart.

"I could easily change that," John teases, gaze falling down to his mouth while he disentangles his fingers from Paul's, slowly letting them trail down his stomach.

“I know you could,” Paul huffs in reply, the touch sending a lazy tingle through him as if to prove his words right.

"C'mere," John murmurs, and Paul obeys without hesitation, shifting closer until he can tuck his face into the crook of John’s neck and their bodies align.

It’s not like he’s going to say no, in case John plans on taking his word literally, but it’s not like he needs it. He’s more than content just to have this kind of contact, to feel the familiar body against his, his warmth, his scent, and to rest here with him for a while longer, relishing in the luxury of privacy.

John’s hand stretches on his upper thigh, teasingly close, but not moving any further. Instead Paul can only feel the gentle pressure of each finger leaving warm imprints on his skin.

“What do you want to do today?” John asks after it becomes clear they’re both satisfied with each other’s closeness, and Paul gives him a soft, lazy huff in return.

“Absolutely fuck all,” he returns, a smile stretching on his lips. He sure as hell doesn’t want to leave the house, and if the only thing they do is laze around, eat something, make a bit of music, maybe watch a bit of telly, he’s absolutely happy.

"Alright then," John agrees with a chuckle, tightening his arms for a second. "But you still have to move your pretty arse out of bed, 'cause I'm starvin'."

Paul huffs quietly, hiding his smile against John’s skin. “And, what, that’s my responsibility?”

“Mmmh, no.” The hummed answer vibrates through John’s chest. “But maybe some sugar and cinnamon toast could convince you to move?”

Fuck. God damn it, John just knows how to get him every single time.

Paul presses a small, half indignant sound against John's neck but doesn't even try to protest.

"Yeah, okay. Good one, that."

“There you go, knew that would get you,” John replies mischievously while working his body out of his hold, ignoring the way Paul’s head unceremoniously flops down onto the now empty space of the mattress, just as he ignores the protesting sound that comes from him.

Paul glowers at John for a moment, but they both know that he has him now, so eventually he sighs and drags himself out of bed.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re slow,” John singsongs already half through the door, only stopping for a quick appreciating glance over Paul’s naked form. A last pleased grin and he’s gone with loud steps down the stairs.

Paul rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the twitching of his lips either. John is insufferable, always was, always will be, but God help him - he loves him. He does.

He’s fucked.

But he can’t bring himself to mind right now, so he just grabs some underwear and pulls it on, takes his jeans next and steps into them. Paul knows that John must be getting impatient down there, that’s just how he is, but that still can’t make him hurry up as he trudges down the stairs, yawning into his hand.

The sight of a bare-footed John buttering bread while humming to himself greets Paul as he enters the kitchen. He has to grin when a curse interrupts the melody and John fights with the slipping knife and crumpling bread. There’s a little frown of concentration between John’s eyebrows and Paul swears he’s never seen someone take cinnamon and sugar toasts this serious. 

And, yeah, maybe  _ this  _ is why he loves him.

Paul just watches him for a moment, slumping forward against the door frame, temple resting against the wood. Maybe he’s just strange - he  _ is  _ strange, he knows that - but he wishes he could have this more often, little moments like this one.

Moments like John looking up from making toast, his eyes finding him in the doorway, the soft edge of the smile that Paul knows is only for him. He wants this for the rest of his life even though he knows it's a silly, unrealistic notion. 

"Come on Macca, time to wake up," John interrupts his thoughts before pointing to the stove. "Tea's almost ready."

“Alright, alright, hold your horses.”

Well, at least he’s got it right now, right here. Even if it’s just for the weekend - this is worth a lot.

As Paul joins John by the stove to help him with breakfast, he thinks to himself that he’s going to enjoy the hell out of this.


End file.
